


Who You Really Are

by wbss21



Category: Thor - Fandom
Genre: False Assumptions, Friendship, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki likes kids, Loneliness, Suggestions of abuse/violence, character assassination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The knock comes at their door just as they're preparing to sit down for their supper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You Really Are

The knock comes at their door just as they're preparing to sit down for their supper.

Olga and Sven look to one another, surprised and vaguely hesitant.

They never get visitors this time of night, and the two of them cannot help the fear which comes with the unexpected. There have been reports recently of robberies from surrounding villages, as close by as six leagues, and with the children to consider... it makes them decidedly nervous.

"I'll see what that's about." Sven finally says, standing from his seat. "Stay put." He looks pointedly, first at his wife, then to his young son and daughter.

The three of them just nod, watching attentively as he moves towards the door of their small cottage.

Olga can't help but hold her breathe as he reaches to unlatch the flimsy lock, putting her arm protectively round their children, pulling them close to her as she and they watch. The children are excited, not yet worldly enough to expect anything but friendliness from others.

Sven hesitates a long moment with his hand on the door's handle, the seconds seeming to stretch endlessly, before, at last, he stands straighter and pulls the door wide.

His other hand had rested, out of sight of whoever may have been standing at their home's threshold, upon a branding iron, sitting just inside the door, fingers curling round the handle, ready to take it up and strike at the stranger if necessary.

Whatever intention Sven had held to use it, however, dies away from him quickly, only to be replaced with utter and disbelieving shock.

He stares wide eyed, breath caught in his throat, up at the figure before him. A very tall, very thin man of intensely handsome features, sharp and refined and decidedly elegant, with skin most literally white as fresh fallen snow, hair black as pitch, and eyes so verdantly green they seem to glow, as though illuminated from within by some unseen light.

The man is dressed in the finest, most intricately fashioned clothes Sven has ever lain eyes on, with a deeply green riding cloak round his shoulders, a near match for his eyes, seemingly of crushed velvet, and beneath, a black silk tunic. His breeches and boots both of very obviously fine and supple leather, appearing immensely soft and comfortable.

At his hip, Sven sees, he is wearing a sword, sheathed within a beautiful and bejeweled scabbard, the hilt of the weapon similarly encrusted in stones and crafted of, seemingly, purest gold.

The man smiles down at him, inclining his head slightly.

"Good evening." He says, in a voice almost absurdly refined, smooth and articulate and richly toned. "If you will forgive my intrusion of you, I am just recently arrived in your village, and find myself in need of lodgings. I fear I know not your village well, and would inquire of you a recommendation of where I might obtain a suitable shelter this night."

For a long moment, Sven can only continue to stand and stare up at the young man, paralyzed by his own surprise, before, at last, his mind seems to catch up with him, and in an instant, he's throwing himself on the ground, prostrating himself at the man's feet.

"M-m-my L-Lord Prince!" He stammers hurriedly, hardly able to believe the words coming from his mouth.

"Odin's spear..." he hears Olga breathe behind him, sounding utterly stunned. "Children, children, g-get down. Down on your knees!"

He can hear them scrambling to do as their mother tells them, chair legs scrapping along the wooden floor boards, utensils clattering as they're dropped on plates, and before long, total silence falls over the space, and he knows his wife and children all are doing exactly as he, on their knees, heads bowed to the ground.

Seconds passing, and he expects the Prince to give the order for them to rise. Only the silence continues to stretch, so long that Sven begins to panic that he and his family have somehow offended his Lordship. Fearing it so, he risks glancing upward, and finds the Prince with an odd, almost bewildered expression across his face as he shifts his gaze from Sven to his family and back again. Almost a look of surprise.

Sven knows not how to interpret such a look. Can't begin to understand what it means. And so he simply lowers his eyes back down, remaining prostrate and still.

"Please," he at last hears the Prince speak, his voice low and even frail sounding. Strained. "Do not... do not do that. You needn't bow down to me so."

Once more, Sven finds himself confused, uncertain as to the Prince's meaning, to the strange lilt to his voice, almost as though he's pained.

Still, the command is express, and Sven doesn't hesitate a moment before he's pushing himself back to his feet, turning and gesturing to his wife and children to follow.

When he looks back to the Prince, he sees the young man's eyes with a flash of something like pain in them, his brow lined thick with seeming regret, and for a moment, Sven wonders at it, confused. Wonders at the openness of his Lordships features.

For nearly a century now, talk of the second son of Odin has well permeated the streets of Asgard and beyond. Talk of Prince Loki's coldness and apparent detachment. Talk of his razor sharp tongue, and how those fool enough to cross him have come away bearing the mark of his vicious and lightening wit. Talk of how very different he is to Odin's first son. To the Crown Prince Thor, with his open and generous nature. With his courage and innate leadership, his power and his strength.

They say of Prince Loki that he is the dark prince to Thor's light. They call him coward for his refusal to meet an opponent on ground level, and ergi for his practice of magic. They say he is ghastly even, ugly, with his pale skin and sickly frame, with hair dark and eyes green. Whereas Prince Thor, they speak of him as if he were the sun itself, golden, bright, warm and full of life.

Sven has heard many tales, many stories of the second prince, few of them ever kind.

Yet, he remembers too, looking at his Lordship now, that the Prince is just barely out of boyhood, having reached his majority only in the last decade. He is so painfully young. And suddenly it strikes the man how very awful it is, the things some say about him, when the Prince, truly, is still just a child.

And whatever else they say of him, of his cool and brisk manner, his mischief and, some say, cruel trickery, Sven has thus far seen none of it. Has, in truth, been met only with unfailing politeness.

Prince Loki's voice is soft, kind in its tone as he seems gentle in his manner, and his face bears no shut up iciness, but instead is strangely, almost sadly naked in its emotions.

"I entreat, again," Prince Loki goes on, hands which had before been folded and still at his front now fidgeting nervously in the material of his cloak, his eyes falling away, almost as if in deference. "forgive me. I have encroached upon you and your family's meal, and disturb your peace after a doubtless hard day's work."

The Prince looks back up to Sven finally, smiling weakly, his eyes then searching over his shoulder, looking to Olga and the children, smiling in turn at them.

"With your fine permission then, I shall take my leave of you. I bid you all a good night, and thank you for your aide."

His Lordship begins then to turn, to leave, and it's then Sven notices for the first time just how haggerd the young man looks.

The moonlight outside catching his form, and it's readily apparent that the Prince's fine clothes are very nearly filthy with dirt and dust. Frayed, torn even in places throughout his cloak and up the sides from the hem of his tunic. His breeches are ragged, worn thin at the knees, as though he'd been kneeling down upon hard ground for an interminable stretch of time, and the material had thus been worked away. And his boots, of such fine, supine leather, are similarly covered in mud, thick, up to the ankle almost, like he'd been forced to trudge through a swamp of the stuff for miles.

His face, too, Sven realizes, are dirt covered and... bruised. Around his eyes and the bridge of his nose. And along his lower lip is split, wide and painful looking, dried blood filling the wound, a deep, black and blue abrasion along the Prince's left jaw.

Sven knows the look of having been hit full in the face, and that's precisely what he sees now in his Lordships visage.

His hair as well is ridden with dust, and unruly, very obviously going unbrushed for several days at least.

He wonders, then, how it was he hadn't noticed any of this before. When first he'd opened the door, Prince Loki had appeared to him perfectly kept, perfectly groomed and cleanly.

And then, very suddenly, it occurs to him.

The second son of Odin, it is well known, is a master of magic, and illusion.

There must be the reason, Sven thinks, though he finds himself then only more confused by the reason why. He cannot understand why Prince Loki would present himself as well doing when... when very obviously now, he so clearly is not.

His Lordship seems distracted as he turns away, his previous well mannered comportment giving way to almost confused agitation, his long, thin hands fidgeting still in the material of his cloak, his brow furrowed in consternation and seeming pain even.

If Sven knew no better, he might even describe the look across his Lordships face as frightened, and lost.

Nearly with his back to Sven and his family now, the Prince lifts a hand, grabbing for a moment at his shoulder length hair, fingers curling into it and tugging, hard.

Sven isn't even sure what possesses him in that moment to act as he does. Later, he might realize in reflection it is his own instincts as a father, as a parent, which had compelled him towards it.

For in that moment, looking upon the second prince, Sven sees nothing so much as a lost and hurting child, in obvious need of help.

"W-wait, my Prince..." Sven calls out abruptly, throwing a hand forward and, unthinkingly, taking hold the young man's arm.

The first thing to strike him, strangely, is how through the silk of his Lordship's tunic, he can feel just how thin the boy is. Painfully so.

It's only a moment later he realizes what he's done, and his eyes widen in horror, his hand letting go the Prince's arm immediately.

"Fo-forgive me my Prince, I..." he begins to stammer, his eyes lowering instantly to the ground. "I didn't mean... I sh-shouldn't have..."

"It's alright." He hears the Prince say, softly, and looking up, he finds his Lordship looking back at him, smiling, the expression brittle and forced. He still seems distracted, forehead lined in worry. "I've taken enough of your time. I'll leave now." He repeats, beginning again to turn.

"No, wait," Sven says once more. "I... m-my Lord, if you seek shelter for the night, m-my family and I would more than willingly offer our home to you. It... it isn't much, but... but it's a warm and dry and... and we would gladly share our meal with you. Would be honored. You... if... if you mind not m-my saying so Prince Loki, you look in need of... of aide."

The Prince looks back at him a long moment, blinking, seeming oddly shocked. And then, very abruptly, his eyes widen, and he looks down at himself.

A half-choked sound escapes his Lordship's throat, and quickly he turns away, covering his eyes with a wide palm, standing motionless.

He seems for an instant paralyzed with embarrassment.

"My Lord," Sven begins.

"Forgive me," Prince Loki says again. "I... I meant not for you to see... I... I find myself weary. I have been traveling many days and... "

His voice trails off then, his face turning, looking off into the distance, standing motionless once more.

"My Lord, please," Sven begins after a moment. "it... it would do me and my family such pride if... if you would come and sup with us and... and take your lodgings here for the night."

The Prince then turns, looking back at him, eyes bright and uncertain.

"Would it not be a great inconvenience to you?" He asks after a long moment, as if genuinely unsure.

Sven shakes his head.

"Not at all, my Lord. I repeat myself, but it would do me and my family a great honor to have you."

It is long, uncertain seconds while the Prince stands there, seeming to ponder the invitation in his mind, and once more Sven finds himself nervous with worry that he somehow has stepped beyond his place.

But then his Lordship smiles, a thin, sweet expression, his brow furrowing with it, and he holds out his arm to take Sven's own.

Again, Sven stumbles, taken aback by the gesture. It is one of equality. One a prince or a king might extend a nobleman or another lord. Certainly not to a peasant, to a lowly farmer such as himself.

But Prince Loki only continues to stand there, his arm extended, waiting, until finally, with hesitation, Sven reaches back, clasping his Lord's forearm gently. The Prince clasps his back with greater firmness, bowing his head.

"It, in turn, would be my great honor to accept your invitation." He says.

Truly, Sven thinks as he stands aside to allow the Prince entry, it is like some vague dream.

He asks his Lordship about his horse, offering to put him up in their meager stable for the night, and is so shocked when the Prince informs him he has no horse. That he'd traveled to their village by foot, from a more distance one still, on his journey back to the Capital city.

His Lord's pale complexion turning slightly blushed in seeming embarrassment, he explains that he would simply have teleported himself the distance, but speaks vaguely of his magic being largely depleted due to extenuating circumstances which he fails to go into detail about. Sven knows better than to ask.

Olga and the children are standing, watching wide eyed and intently as the Prince makes his way into their home. Sven can't help but feel an insecurity over the smallness of their dwelling, knowing it must look all the more pathetic to a prince of the realm, a man no doubt accustomed to only the finest and grandest of surroundings. Sven has never been to the Capital, where the palace of the royal family resides. But he's heard tales of it. Of how it is made of solid gold, from the floors up to the highest peak of its countless spires.

Sven can scarce imagine such a thing.

Yet he sees no such disdain or disregard as the Prince makes his way towards the farmer's family, taking up his wife's hand and bowing to kiss it, looking up then into her face and greeting her softly, asking her name. She gives it shyly, unable to suppress the smile which spreads cross her face or the blush to her cheeks. His Lordship only smiles in turn before, suddenly, he drops to one knee before the children, smiling more warmly still at them both.

"Good evening to you." He says. "My name is Loki. May I ask you yours?"

The children, brother and sister, separated each by only a year, giggle and duck their heads.

The Prince only smiles more, patient.

"A-are you really a prince?" Agnes, Sven's daughter, asks timidly.

His Lordship nods, laughing lightly.

"Aye," he answers. "I am. Though only a title, not to be taken with such seriousness. You, however, are such a beautiful girl. Surly you must be a princess. Or a queen, perhaps?"

Agnes giggles again, ducking her head and shaking it.

"N-no." She mumbles.

"No?!" Prince Loki starts, sounding genuinely astonished. "Impossible! My own mother is a queen, and I think I should recognize another when I see her. For certain, your beauty is a match for her own."

Again, Agnes bursts into giggles, hiding her face behind her hands.

The Prince then turns his attention to Dali, their son.

"And what of you, young warrior? You seem very dashing, very strong indeed. Look at that fine build! You must be a prince, or a king. Don't try to fool me as your sister has. Again, my father is a king, and my brother a prince, and I should recognize another."

Dali, more daring than his sister, puffs up his little chest, putting his hands on his hips and grinning broadly.

"I'm not a prince yet. But someday, I want to be just like Prince Thor! The mightiest of all Asgard's warriors!"

For only a brief instant, Sven thinks he sees the vaguest strain pass over the Prince's features, his smile seeming to struggle at their corners. But a moment later, any sign of it is gone, and his Lordship is smiling as effortlessly as before.

Sven thinks he must have imagined it.

"Indeed!" Prince Loki exclaims. "My brother is the finest of our realms warriors! The power of ten Aesir men in his arm alone. Though I think, perhaps, he may find in you a worthy competitor. Mayhap, someday, when you've grown a little, you may stand beside him on the field of battle."

Dali's eyes grow wide then, disbelieving.

"Your brother is Prince Thor?" He asks, voice thick with astonishment.

His Lordship laughs lightly, nodding.

"Aye, 'tis so." He ruffles Dali's hair playfully. "And proud I am of it. He's the elder, as I see you are to your sister. I have hope you guard and protect young Agnes well as Thor would guard and protect me when we were children."

Again, Dali puffs up his chest, nodding enthusiastically.

"That's a good lad then." The Prince tells him. "It's important you always be there for your sister. Always defend her when she can't defend herself."

There's something heavy in the Prince's tone, Sven thinks then. Something almost sad. Though he can't quite place what it is, nor where it may come from.

He knows anyway it isn't his place to pry.

"If your brother's Thor," Agnes pipes up suddenly. "then you're... you're Prince Loki?"

"Aye," His Lordship nods, turning his attention to the girl. "that be so."

Agnes gets a suddenly frightened look across her face, visibly paling and stumbling back a step.

"Y-you're... you're a b-bad m-man!" She gasps.

Sven immediately feels his heart crash down into the pit of his stomach, his wife giving a choked cry.

"Agnes!" She chides instantly, voice harsh and horrified.

Sven's eyes swerve to the Prince, expecting the worst.

But he only sees the young man raise a hand up towards his wife, placating, and shaking his head.

"'Tis well." He says gently, giving a weak smile. Again, there is a shadow of the same strain Sven had noticed earlier. But if he'd been expecting anger, or indignation of any sort, any sign of affront, he sees none whatsoever across his Lordship's visage. Only sees him turn back to his daughter, smiling gently at her, remaining on his knee.

"You think me a bad man?" He asks softly, only harmless curiosity in his tone.

Agnes is staring up at him, still wide eyed and frightened.

The Prince waits patiently for her to answer.

"... Th-that... that's w-what they say." She at last stammers. "Th-they say you're mean and bad and a-awful!"

"Your friends?" The Prince goes on, the same, mild voice.

Agnes nods.

"And what do you think?" His Lordships returns easily. "Do I appear to you as such?"

Agnes doesn't answer for a few, long seconds, her eyes narrowing and staring at the Prince as if making a serious study to determine the answer to his question.

Until finally she sighs dramatically, shaking her head.

"I don't know." She declares.

Prince Loki smiles broadly then.

"Well, I say allow you to make your own judgment and tell me your thoughts on the subject when you've grown to know me better. And, until then, I give you my solemn oath as both a prince of Asgard and as son of Odin All-Father, that I intend you nor your family the least bit of harm, and will accordingly treat you with the same respect and gentility with which your fine mother and father have thus far afforded me. How does that sound?"

Agnes continues to stare for long moments, seeming uncertain. But at last, blessedly, she again heaves a heavy sigh and nods.

"All right." She says.

His Lordship smiles again, reaching out and taking the girl's hand, placing a kiss along her knuckles the same as he'd done with Olga.

"My sincerest gratitude." He tells her before, finally, standing, and turning towards Sven and his wife.

"You'll forgive me, I pray. But if I may inquire as to a place I might make myself more presentable for your dinner table? I shall only be a few moments."

He looks between Sven and Agnes each.

Sven, for a moment, finds himself befuddled by the almost painful politeness of the Prince, until he snaps himself from his reverie, standing at attention.

"Oh, o-of course my Lord. R-right this way. There's a room which... which I had supposed would serve you through the night. It isn't much, b-but... but it has a wash basin and a looking glass, f-for your convenience."

The Prince bows his head in gratitude.

"That is fine, thank you." He says. "And please, I've kept you from your meal long enough. Feel free to begin without me. I won't be but a moment or two."

Sven wants to protest, to tell his Lordship that of course they'll wait for him, but he can see the Prince is perhaps impatient to clean himself up, and so the farmer simply turns to lead the way, hearing his Grace following behind.

He thanks Sven once more before walking past him, into the small space used for visitors, and Sven begins to pull the door closed behind him.

He cannot then help his own curiosity though, pausing with the door just the slightest bit ajar, staring in and watching the Prince a long moment.

The grace with which his Lordship had before carried himself seems, in an instant, to melt away from him, his shoulders slumping down and back bending, head lowering as he takes hold the sides of the wash basin, and stands there a moment, still. Yet even from this distance, Sven can see the vague trembling through the Prince's frame.

He looks suddenly, terribly defeated, and exhausted and, more than all this perhaps, sad.

The farmer forces his eyes away then, knowing he shouldn't so intrude on his Grace, closing the door softly as he can.

His wife and children are a jumble of questions and excitement when he comes back to them, asking him why the Prince has come to them, as if he knows any better than they. He can only shake his head and tell them to keep their voices low, lest his Lordship hear.

His wife occupies herself then with putting out an extra chair and setting an extra place.

It is perhaps only ten minutes before Prince Loki emerges from the room. And yet in so short a time, he's managed to make himself appear near immaculate, his hair combed back and neat, his face and hands clean. He's stripped down out of his cloak and has somehow achieved a noticiable cleanliness to his tunic and breeches and boots. It isn't an illusion, Sven doesn't think, for how he sees the job isn't perfect, there still being a raggedness to the garments, very obviously used and worn thin. As well as how his Grace still sports the same bruises and cuts across his face, the dried blood simply cleaned away with the dirt.

He looks haggerrd, but in the same instant, infinitely well put together. The contrast is strange, the farmer thinks.

"Forgive me my delay." He greets them all, once more bowing his head. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you much further."

"Not... not at all, my Lord." Olga speaks, she and Sven standing to meet him, Sven quickly reminding the children to do the same.

The Prince shakes his head, gesturing with his hands for them to sit again.

"Please, sit. And if it is to your pleasure, you may call me Loki."

The family all take their seats again, though Sven doesn't know if he can manage to call his Lordship anything but by one of his proper titles. Calling him by his actual name feels... somehow wrong.

Though, in truth, the entire affair seems too strange to be real as is.

The Prince... Loki... Sven has difficulty with it already... takes the seat Olga had placed out. It's only after Loki sits down that Sven realizes the error. The seat is placed beside the children. Not a proper place at all for one of the Prince's ranking.

In his sudden panic, Sven nearly knocks his own seat over, he stands up so quickly, stuttering out an apology.

"Fo-forgive me my Lord. Y-you should be seated at the head of the table, o-of course!"

Loki looks up at him with a vaguely startled expression, before it melts into a soft smile, and he shakes his head lightly.

"Please, this is more than fine. You needn't trouble yourself further." He says.

Sven blinks, unable to at first understand.

Loki nods towards him.

"Please, sit back down."

It's only when he feels his wife's hand on his arm does he sink back to his seat, slightly stunned.

Stunned. That's what Sven supposes he's felt since he first opened the door and was met with the almost painfully polite, he would even describe him as sweet, young man. He hadn't expected, had never dreamed this was who the second prince of their realm was.

And that shock then abruptly, awfully, turns to shame, as he remembers all his own assumptions regarding the Prince. Remembers, even, jesting with his own friends and neighbors at his Lordship's expense. Mocking him, even. Most particularly... most particularly about the incident with the dwarves.

Word had reached far about how Odin's second son had had his mouth sewn shut by a duo of dwarves, after losing some bet with them. How the thread they'd used to accomplish the deed had been enchanted, so powerfully that even a sorcerer as gifted as the Prince was unable to undo the bindings, and he's had to walk about in full view like that for many months, unable to eat or drink at all, his humiliation and shame clear for all to see, until finally his father had broken the enchantment for him. There too had been word of how infected and grotesque the wounds had grown in that time, and how, when finally freed, the second Prince had wept brokenly.

Many of Sven's friends and acquaintances had laughed heartily at the news, taking jabs at the Prince's obvious cowardice and womanly behavior, speaking of how it was about time the trickster had a taste of his own medicine.

Sven had laughed with them, not daring to disagree, though in his heart he'd felt uncomfortable at the way some of the men and women spoke so disrespectfully against his Lordship. He was, after all, their prince, even if only a second prince. Further, he was really only a boy at the time of the incident, and no child, no matter how mischievous, deserved to be mutilated and humiliated that way.

Still, Sven hadn't spoken up about it, simply going along with what the others had said, even allowing himself to become convinced by their words that Prince Loki perhaps did deserve what had happened to him. It was all rumor and hearsay as to Odin's second son and his habit of playing tricks on people. But those rumors had grown into accusations of cruelty and mean-spiritedness.

For the life of him, Sven cannot now see how such a reputation emerged from the young man now sitting at his dinner table.

Loki is... impeccably well mannered, and kind... almost to a fault it seems.

Even shy, Sven would say, his voice incredibly soft and his manner not distant, but withdrawn, nearly fearful.

He seems worried, nervous that he'll do or say something wrong, which is absolutely odd for someone of his rank, around people of theirs.

Sven has never directly met a member of the Asgardian royal family, nor any other royalty. But he's seen both Prince Thor and All-Father Odin in public, and the both of them were so blindingly confident in their manner and comportment. They just seemed... superior, and behaved as if they knew it.

Prince Loki, by contrast, seems anything but sure of himself. Certainly, he is refined and well-spoken beyond anybody Sven has ever met, and carries himself with an almost mesmerizing sophistication. But beneath that, all of that, the farmer isn't sure how to put it to words. There's something almost damaged there, something even broken.

He keeps all this to himself, knowing it would be beyond foolish to say anything of his thoughts on the matter, and further realizing, once more, it truly is none of his business.

Dinner commences, Olga setting about the task of passing around the various dishes which cover their table. Sven again finds himself nervous as to whether they should be serving Loki, but once more, the Prince shows no sign of minding having to scoop his own food onto his plate. Sven's concerns over the food's quality being up to Loki's standard similarly fall by the wayside when his Lordship exclaims enthusiastically that the meal is "most excellent" and "the best he's had in many months".

As the evening wares on, his Grace talks equally and with as great attention to all of them, including the children, asking almost exclusively about themselves and their own lives, and speaking little about himself, even when asked.

By the time they're through eating, Agnes has warmed utterly to the Prince, even grown very clearly enamored of him, to the point she's now taken up a place on his lap, her head rested against his chest as he sits along a bench near the fireplace, Dali sitting by his feet as he tells them both tales of his and his older brother's many adventures throughout the different realms.

The Prince's voice is almost hypnotizing in its tone, melodic. He's an exceptional storyteller. A fact only enhanced by his conjuring up illusions of brilliant color and likeness to life, bringing his yarns into seeming reality.

The children sit mesmerized, and, Sven can't help noticing as he helps his wife bring the dishes to the kitchen, the Prince seems himself to enjoy their company and companionship well as they do his. It isn't affected. It isn't forced. Sven has solicited the help of many of his friends in the duty of looking after his children many a time, and he knows well the difference between one who truly likes children, and one who simply is putting up with them.

Loki, with almost painful obviousness, adores the children. It seems even sad, how clearly he does, how much apparent joy he derives from their simple and innocent conversation and attention.

Later, nearly two hours so, when it is nearing the childrens bedtime, and they are still begging his Lordship for more stories, Sven finally puts his foot down and tells them they have to get ready for sleep.

There is, of course, the customary complaints and beseeches to stay up "just a little longer", but Sven will have none of it.

Agnes begins then to cry, much to the farmers horror and embarrassment.

"I want to stay with Loki!" She wails, and Sven's eyes shift to the Prince, fearful of what he may see.

But Loki is only smiling softly at the girl as he stands from his seat.

"Agnes, my child," he begins softly, bending down so that he is eye level with her. "how sounds to you an exchange? I will make you and your brother fly if you listen to your father and go straight to bed afterward."

Both the children look at his Grace with skeptical eyes, and Sven can hardly blame them, his own mind disbelieving at Loki's strange promise.

"You can't make us fly!" Dali insists a moment later, crossing his arms over his small chest.

Loki laughs lightly, looking to the boy.

"I assure you I can." He says. "But you must promise me, before I do so, to go to bed like your father tells you. Yes?"

The children still don't look as though they believe it, but each of them nods a moment later, waiting.

"Very well then." The Prince smiles, pushing himself gracefully back to his feet. "Now, each of you, stand in the center of the room. Yes, that's it. Now hold hands. Are you ready?"

The children, having followed his Lordships instructions, nod excitedly, and Sven stands back, watching expectantly. Olga has even joined at his side, waiting to see what will happen.

"Alright then. Here were go." Loki says. And then he's gesturing with his long, thin hands, some complicated motion which Sven can't even begin to follow. Green and gold light dances delicately from his fingertips, swirling about his arms before shooting suddenly across the space and surrounding the children. Olga gasps softly by Sven's side, and an instant later, both Agnes and Dali are lifting into the air, hovering gently.

The two of them gasp in turn, before dissolving into a fit of uncontrollable giggling, their eyes wide and filled with unchecked glee.

Prince Loki gestures again with his hands, softly casting them right, and the children float slowly and carefully in the direction he motions. Again left, and then in a circle, all the while, Dali's and Agnes's excitement reaching a pitch. Sven has never seen them so happy, so joyful, and it makes his own heart swell with happiness to see it, and then gratitude for the Prince, for giving his children such a thing.

The magic continues for some minutes more, before Loki carefully sets the children back down to their feet and breaks the spell, smiling at them.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asks, as though it's at all needed, given the way they still laugh and gasp and cling to each other in their disbelief. Still, they nod in affirmation, barely able to speak, and Loki nods in return.

"Very good then. Now, do as you promised and ready yourselves for bed." He tells them.

The children don't so much as hint at an argument, simply scampering off to their room.

The Prince watches them as they go, before turning towards Sven and his wife.

"I thank you again for a most lovely supper." He tells them each. "It was truly excellent."

"Thank you my Lo... I-I mean Loki. Thank you Loki." Sven stumbles, but the Prince only smiles.

"May I offer to you my assistance in helping clean your wares from dinner?" He asks.

"Oh! No. No." Olga shakes her head. "B-but thank you. I've it quite at hand."

"You are certain?" The Prince asks once more. "It's no trouble."

Again, Olga shakes her head, smiling.

"Please, you've done enough already, helping with the children and all."

"That was no chore." Loki smiles in return. "Truly, you have lovely children. You should be proud."

"We are. Th-thank you." Sven offers.

Another, tight smile, the same, shadowed expression passing over his Graces features, which the farmer had seen more than a few times now over the course of the evening.

Bowing at the waist then, Loki straightens after a moment.

"Then, if you mind it not, my journey has made me weary, and I should like to retire for the evening?"

"Of course! Of course my Lord. I... I mean, Loki!" Sven stammers.

"If... if you should need anything, please, just let us know." Olga puts in.

"I shall." Loki replies, once more bowing his head to them. "I thank you again, and wish you a good night."

Sven and Olga make an awkward bow in return, watching then as the his Grace turns and disappears a moment later into the room they've given him, closing the door softly behind him.

It's maybe an hour later before the two of them make it to bed themselves. Hours more before they can even hope to fall asleep, their minds swirling with thoughts of the evening, unable to keep themselves from talking about the Prince.

/

In the morning, when they wake and come out of their room, it is Olga who is the first to notice the letter, sitting upon their dining table, beside some manner of large canvas pouch, tied off at the top by a silk ribbon.

She takes the letter up, examining it, calling Sven over to look. It is written out in absurdly elegant script, in green ink, upon fine parchment. It reads thusly:

"My good and gracious hosts, dear Sven and Olga, Agnes and Dali,

It was my great pleasure and honor to be invited into your beautiful home and allowed to spend such a fine and welcoming evening with you. Your kindness and generosity was, to me, remarkable, and, my need for such kindness immense, did for me a greater good than possibly you can ever know. I fear I shall never properly be able to repay such boundless good will on your part, but I may, with my now limited means, attempt to try. You will find beside this note a canvas pouch, containing some monetary reimbursement for your troubles. I thank you again, with sincerest heart, and may life find you all in good health and good fortune.

Most faithfully

Loki"

Putting the letter down, her hand to her heart, very clearly overcome, Sven, realizing the Prince was gone, most probably hours so, reaches for the canvas pouch, carefully untying to silk ribbon and pulling the top apart.

His breath simply leaves him as he gazes in at its contents.

"What?" Olga asks, watching him, seeing his shock. "What is it?"

Sven can only swallow, he throat dry, several seconds passing as he tries to compose himself.

"What is it Sven?" Olga presses once more. "Please, my love. You're frightening me."

Finally, Sven's eyes move up to meet her own, staring at her for long moments before, at last, with trembling hands, he turns the pouch over, letting its contents spill out onto the table.

Olga's eyes widen in utter shock.

There must be over a thousand solid gold pieces, and mixed between them, glittering precious stones of seeming every variety.

Enough money, Sven knows with only one look, to support him and his entire family for years to come. Perhaps decades, without him ever needing to work.

It isn't until later, much later, after he and Olga have woken the children and they've all gone out to celebrate, overwhelmed by their own happiness and good fortune, that Sven even bothers to wonder.

That it strikes him at all, how very strange it is.

That the Prince should give them so much, so much... simply because they showed him a little kindness.


End file.
